Birthdays and Books
by NCISBONESgirl
Summary: It's Castle's birthday, and Beckett decides that she has to do something special. Something that means something. No material object will do... Also, Beckett considers how Castle changed her life, and how much she likes books. Caskett. One-shot.


**This, my lovlies, is what happens when I think about books in a poetic manner for extended periods of time. As in, the objects, not the stories in them. Weird? Yes. Productive? Apparently. **

**New chapter for either "Greif" or "Secrets Lies and TellTale Signs" coming this weekend. Sorry for the wait. **

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Castle, ABC, or any of their affiliates.**_

**Enjoy!**

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><p>"Coffee for you, my dear detective." Castle practically sang as he strode into homicide one morning.<p>

Beckett looked up from her file when he set a cup on her desk. She smiled slightly. "You're in a good mood this morning." She remarked, and then took a large sip.

"That I am!" He grinned at her before plopping down in his usual chair. He locked eyes with her, looking expectant.

She raised her eyebrows in return.

"Isn't there something you want to say to me?" Castle asked pointedly.

Beckett considered this for a moment and then shook her head, watching Castle's face wilt as she did so.

"Nothing?" He probed. "Not one thing about today? Or what it is?"

Another head shake. "Should I?"

"No…no, I guess not." He looked away.

Immediately, Beckett felt guilty. In truth, she knew exactly what Castle was talking about, and she hated that she had killed his good mood. For Christ's sake, all the man wanted was a "Happy Birthday"…

But she couldn't give it to him.

Not that she didn't want to! Heavens no. This was not some smug pride game. Not a fight for control, or some sick desire to simply break his spirits. No, this was her deciding that Castle deserved something special for his birthday.

It had to come from the heart. _Her_ heart, which, in truth, was something Castle had only ever caught glimpses of. This gift had to really mean something. She had decided, in the days leading up to today, that no material object would do. Lord knows if the man wanted something he would just buy it…

So, she had been thinking. Well, more like _plotting_, and after hours spend over the course of a week, she had settled on just the thing.

She thought of that plan then, as she bit her lip and looked at Castle, silently taking herself back from the edge of telling him everything by reminding herself why she was doing this in the first place.

Castle looked over and caught her staring. He blinked a few times and then arched an eyebrow, effectively implying something and asking several questions, and all without saying a word.

Rick Castle: Master of silent communication.

"Huh?" Beckett shook her head slightly, acting as if she were just coming back to Earth. "Sorry. Lost in thought."

Castle's previously inquisitive eyebrows now knit together in an odd mix of curiosity and concern. "About what?"

She gave him a small but genuine smile. "Just a case. It's nothing." She reassured him. God bless the man. Even when he was hurt, he cared about her more than anything.

And he was hurt. That much was painfully obvious. Although he tried to keep it off his face, it was clear. She was sure that he was telling himself that he shouldn't be. Just certain he was telling himself that she was a busy woman, that she cared about him, but had no room in her mind for birthdays.

Beckett almost laughed at the fact that for a man revered for his story telling, he was extremely transparent.

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><p>Later that day, Castle grabbed his coat and headed over to Beckett, who was staring intently at the Murder Board.<p>

"Beckett?"

Her head snapped in his direction, her concentration broken. "Yeah?"

"I'm gonna take off now." Castle jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the door.

"Don't blame you." Beckett sighed and looked back to the board. "Slow day."

Another lie. Or maybe not lie. No, lie was the wrong word. Perhaps, a half-truth. While it was indeed a slow day at the precinct (which was very rare, but still occurred), she knew that that wasn't the reason her partner was leaving early. Beckett knew full well that he had a book signing this afternoon.

So, maybe if the word "lie" must be used, it was a lie by omission.

But it was all a part of her plan.

Castle stood by her awkwardly for a moment more, clearly expecting something more. "So…um…bye, then."

"See ya, Castle." Beckett's eyes didn't leave the board.

He shook his head and walked from the precinct with the stride and expression of an utterly confused man.

Beckett smirked as he left, and began taking down the cold case that she had put up simply to amuse Castle.

This was going to be good.

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><p>Exactly one and a half hours later, Beckett stood in line.<p>

Normally, she would have been annoyed. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, sighing, and generally displaying her displeasure over the agonizing wait.

Not today.

Today, she stood quietly in line behind two obviously close friends who were chattering away while she was lost in thought.

She gazed down at the book in her hands, so much more worn than everyone else's. Hers was a paperback, first of all. The top of it had a yellow-y color to it from sun exposure, and the thin cover had been worn down in spots to the point where the color faded away completely. There were cracks and creases running up its spine, and the inside of it told a story in conjunction to the words printed on the pages. A coffee stain here, a few tear splatters there, and a few highlighted or circled phrases revealed the type of person who possessed it.

True, to the untrained eye the book would have appeared abused. Mistreated and thrown around like trash. But to anyone who had ever had a favorite book, it was clear that the document had been through a whole different kind of ringer. The book had been someone's life support. The book had been loved.

The book had been Beckett's.

How much this particular book meant to her would have been evident to anyone looking at her bookshelf. It was filled with glossy, perfect looking, dustless hardbacks…and then this special novel.

Although it should be noted that the glossy, perfect looking, dustless hardbacks were not in their current state because she hadn't read them as many times as the paperback. No, she had simply discovered that this series was special, and decided that every book by that author was to be preserved. So that she could continue to savor each crackle of the spine, the smell, the weight of the book in her hands, each soft, lovely _shwip_ of a page being turned, the feel of the book itself…

It was preposterous, but for a moment Beckett let herself consider the possibility that she and Castle were destined to be close, just because of how much she valued books. They had that in common. An odd sort of yin and yang. He had a passion for writing them, and she had a passion for reading them.

Books to Beckett were an integral part of life. Life pre-Castle had been filled with coffee, cases, and lots and lots of books. It still amazed her somehow how effortlessly he had blended into her tight knit world. Seamlessly, almost, he life had become about coffee, cases, books, and _him._

Beckett had realized a while ago that the prospect of being with Castle was the only thing besides work that could get her to break a date with a book. Most of the time, that book was his own.

She supposed this was an obvious choice for anyone. Would you rather read the book that had provided you so much comfort, or be with the author who penned the words? At first, it was an almost childlike fascination. Star struck on a level that Beckett never dared to show. But as time went on, he had become more than that to her.

Castle was a friend.

He always had been. Helping her through the darkest days of her life by providing an escape. All before he even knew her.

It occurred to her then that Castle and her precious novels held the same appeal. They were both comforting, always there, and never judgmental.

And it just so happened that she liked the way that both of them smelt.

Before she knew it, the friends in front of her were approaching the desk where Castle sat with a Sharpie, scribbling kind words into the front of each book and sending the people on their way. He would pose for pictures, a costume-y smile plastered on his handsome face, making him look fake. Nevertheless, it was clear to anyone that he loved his job, and did not mind talking to fans, and posing for pictures, and signing books, and didn't care that all this had to take place on his birthday.

He had just begun to sign the first friends' book when he spotted her over the woman's shoulder.

Beckett smiled at him, in a way that only seemed to come out whenever he was around.

Castle gave her a shocked, lopsided grin in return. Then his head suddenly pivoted in the direction of the woman, looking surprised that she was still talking. He nodded pleasantly, hoping that the woman thought that he had been listening the whole time.

Beckett couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled from her throat.

He continued on with his meet and great of the two ladies, and then sent them on their way, his eyes immediately locking onto Beckett's.

She didn't try to suppress the grin that spread across her face as she approached his desk. "Hey."

"Hey yourself." Castle's blue eyes sparkled at her as his true smile replaced his fake one. "Kate, what are you doing here?"

Wordlessly, she set the loved and worn copy of his very first novel down on the table and slid it to him.

He looked at her quizzically, but continued to beam at her as he picked up the book, examining it. "Jesus, whoever had this before you bought it beat it up."

Beckett's shrugged. "I bought it new. When it first came out."

Castle seemed to think for a moment, and then quiet understanding swept across his features, easily replacing his earlier expression. He flipped through the pages and took in the dog-ears, the tiny rips, and the tear stains, the rings on pages from coffee cups. He looked back up at her, awe mixed in with everything else on his face now. "I'm touched." He said quietly, and it was clear to Beckett that he meant it.

"I just wanted my favorite author to sign my favorite book." She told him.

"_In a Hail of Bullets_ was your favorite?" Castle questioned, clearly unable to process the new news.

Beckett leaned forward on the table, her face winding up so close to his that they could have easily kissed. She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her strength. Yes. She wanted to do this. When she opened them again, she did not back away. Just let her emerald eyes bore into Castle's ocean ones for a moment, before moving closer and placing her mouth next to his ear. "Your books got me through my mother's death." She confessed in a whisper. "They were my escape. When things got to hard I could just dive in. Almost forget for as long as my eyes were on the print. I never got a chance to say thank you."

Castle almost brought his hand to her jaw. Almost kissed her. But instead he let his hands lie limp and useless as he listened to Beckett. He stared back at her, when she brought her face back to its original position. "Always." He told her earnestly.

Beckett smiled softly and kissed him on the cheek. "Happy birthday, Castle." She told him, and then began to walk away. She didn't want to, but it wasn't fair to take time away from everyone else in line. She took a certain amount of comfort in the fact that she knew he would have talked to her for the rest of the day.

She was Nikki Heat, damn it. If there was one thing she could do, it was capture Richard Castle's attention.

Castle stood from his chair. "Kate!" He called over the noise of the crowd.

She stopped and turned, eyebrows up, listening.

"We should get dinner." He had no idea what he was saying. All he knew was that he wanted to see her again later. Too much of her was never enough. Because, in truth, she had saved him in almost the same way he saved her. When they met, he had been reckless. A 6-year-old boy in a grown man's body. Immature, rebellious, and only focused on having fun. He had seen the "real world", and hadn't liked it. His behavior was almost a defense mechanism.

He thought he'd seen it all before, but nothing quite like her.

Beckett gave him that smile again. "Sure…" She nodded. "I'm paying. Call me when you get out of here." And with that, she left. The promise of a good night hanging in her mind.

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